


Wandering

by BeeWitched



Series: ✘Reader [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Anal, Claiming Kink, Demon Sex, Do it, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, I'm Bad At Titles, Other, POV Female Character, Reader-Insert, Religious Undertones, Shameless Smut, Slime, Tentacles, Two Shot, give yourself to the devil, god im bad at tagging, hes just a sad kitty, i mean it's sort of slime, just fun smut plus plot, marking kink, mild dubcon at times, mostly canon, slime kink, things that should poison you going inside your body, yes i said tentacles, you fuck the demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeeWitched/pseuds/BeeWitched
Summary: "Did you love the demon? Maybe. Perhaps not in the sense you would love a significant other, or even a child, but there was a definite connection you couldn’t put a word to. He haunted your dreams and your thoughts, becoming a necessity, a constant fixation. You wanted him to be free - but you mostly wanted him to be happy and not alone. To be the cause of that happiness and any other good emotions he was capable of. And, if he wished to get revenge on the creator that locked him away, well, you had no problem looking the other way."A 'quick' two-shot with a very basic, shameless plot: Fluffy smut, with the Ink Demon.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  **EVERYTHING BEYOND HERE CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ALL CHAPTERS OF BENDY AND THE INK MACHINE. <  
> ESPEICALLY CHAPTER 5  
> This is the Only Warning I am giving**
> 
> \--------------
> 
> Hey!  
> So, here we are. Ya’ll should have expected this from me at some point.  
> In case you couldn’t gather from the summary, this is a very basic story of Girl Meets Demon, Girl Falls for Demon, Girl Gets Down & Dirty (with the demon).
> 
> There’s a lot of things that the game don’t tell us when it comes to timelines and how Joey Drew Studios actually fell into ruin. We can guess the basics - but as for how it went down, we are sort of left in the dark. Because of that, I am taking a handful of creative liberties here. 
> 
> **Which means:** I’m makin’ shit up, lmao. 
> 
> I’ll try to stay true to the canon as much as possible, but really this story isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s here because I want to fuck the goddamn ink demon. (shrug)
> 
> In the audio logs, it seems Ink Bendy’s main timeline is: “Created - Locked in Tommy’s Office - Locked up (somewhere) as ordered by Joey - ?????? - 30 years later he’s killin’ shit”.  
> So, yeah, Nah, I’m changin’ that some. You’ll see.
> 
> Also the shit about “It’s all a dream/limbo/henry is dead/its all a storyboard by joey”, I’m NOT going to get into that shit, since none of that is confirmed or figured out. And even if you’re reading this at a time where that IS figured out, I don’t care lmao. This is just real life.
> 
> If little bits upset you just pretend it’s an AU lmao
> 
>  
> 
> **tl;dr: don’t be pissed if canon is not perfect, as I don’t actually care that much if isn’t.**
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway. Hope ya’ll sinners enjoy.

 

* * *

 

It was the day the pipes were brought in that you were asked for voice work.

 

It came as a surprise. A welcome one, but a surprise nonetheless. Your line of work was simply “Administrative Assistant”, mostly meaning cross-trained to do a couple of different tasks. Typing, filing, making appointments, writing out mail, taking and making calls.

 

Glorified receptionist.

 

It wasn’t a glamorous job, but you didn’t dislike it either. Being able to work for Joey Drew Studios was a treat in its own way - witnessing these cartoons being brought to life on the screen, seeing the stories played out, coming into contact with the occasional famous person here and there. The job definitely had its ups and downs.

 

So when the proposal happened for some voice work, you were stunned. Usually such roles go to actors and actresses who audition for it. Sure, the part wasn’t something huge. A minor task of five whole words - one line total - that would be assigned a background character. Simple, but still exciting. And it was a very welcome change in the usual pace of paperwork.

 

* * *

 

The machine was...  peculiar. It leaked a lot, but was repaired fast enough. No one had told you the need for the machine - and files said nothing about it at all. Only invoices for more and more ink, more pipes, more machinery. You filed them without asking questions, as is your job. Doesn’t mean you weren’t curious.

 

After the first recording you did, you were requested to come back from time to time. It was exhilarating, whenever you would get the invitation to come down to the recording studios for the afternoon. You still worked only with minor background characters; one liners, a couple words here and there, perhaps giving a sound, gasp, yell, or sigh.

 

At first, you wondered ‘ _why you’_. There were other actresses around - and Susie would probably die for more work, though she seemed very into voicing Alice and _only_ Alice. But it became very apparent after a few sessions that it was the _pay_. See, Mr. Drew didn’t need to pay an actress’s wage if he borrowed a simple worker for the day. In fact, he didn’t need to pay a damn dime - still a receptionist’s wage.

 

It bothered you, but not enough to mention or complain about it. Volunteer work, you figured. And your voice, even if small bits of it, were going to be heard by thousands of people. That was pay, in a way. And being able to get closer to some higher-ups in the business was a definite plus.

 

At first, many of them were intimidating. Big names, big roles, important animators and heads of different parts of the company. But they were kind. Well, on the surface, most of them were.

 

Allison was a quick friend - something that you never thought could happen when you first met her. She was beautiful, and really _really_ skilled in her line of work. She gave you pointers when you first lent your voice to the screen. And her husband, Thomas! You never thought you’d befriend Tom, the raspy voiced repairman from the Gent offices. Norman, Sammy, even Susie on some days, though she has been around less since her role had been changed.

 

Becoming friendly with them gave you a bit more insight on the machine as well, though you couldn’t claim to understand a word of it. Something about bringing cartoons to the real world, and mentions of a theme park - which made no sense. Isn’t that what the company was already doing? Putting cartoons and movies out into the world? Thousands of gallons of ink wouldn’t benefit a theme park...

 

You didn’t want to risk your new friendships by digging too much, so you left it at that - just listening what people would say to or around you.

 

And then there was Joey Drew.

 

He had spoken to you a few times now. Previously, you would usually only speak to your own supervisors, who would then speak to Mr. Drew. Never before did you have a reason to speak to him directly. But now you were tossed into the middle of development, being coached on how a line - as small as the line may be - should be said. Being able to witness part of the creation.

 

Joey was an amazing man. Powerful in his words, his actions, even the way he held himself. He knew what he wanted - he knew how to get it. It was almost impossible to be around him without feeling intimidated.

 

He scared the hell out of you.

 

* * *

 

The first time you saw _him_ , you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking at. In fact, the first obvious conclusion to come to your mind was a bad attempt at sculpture making that stood next to Thomas Conner in the empty lobby before the work day.

 

And then it _moved_.

 

Your entire body turned cold when you saw the slightest sway of body. Stomach twisting and feeling close to throwing up when it started to walk. Every part of your body and soul told you something was wrong. It wasn’t a costume - not how it moved, or how the others avoided it.

 

It was only then that you were told what it was - and how it came to be.

 

The talks of bringing cartoons to life was literal. Very literal. No more costumes and masks, but putting life into ink with the strange (and expensive!) machine. The creature wandering around was the first attempt. A failed first attempt. But still a failure to be learned off, it seemed. The most frustrating bit was the creature’s enjoyment of wandering around the administrative offices - your own usual place of work.

 

Not everyone knew about him – for a while it was only a few of the main crew and those working in the offices. He (whom a few have called ‘Bendy’, much to the annoyance of Mr. Drew) was to be kept inside Tom’s office. But that never really worked. You can’t blame the creature, though - who really wants to be cooped up in an office forever? At least you’re _paid_ for it!

 

Initial shock aside, he didn’t seem that dangerous. At most, he seemed curious, wandering and watching whenever he deemed it necessary to leave his ‘room’. Occasionally he had nabbed a few things. Toys and cut-outs of Bendy, which he had taken back to Tom’s office. Tom didn’t seem too entertained by this idea, but he had been too busy to spend much time in his office anyhow...

 

No one told him ‘no’ to taking away the toys and other Bendy related merchandise. No one has had the courage to. The most common reaction to the creature was to avoid him. ‘Monster’ and ‘Demon’ were words muttered often around the office in careful hushed voices.

 

 _Monster_ , maybe. _Demon_ , there was a good chance. All in all, you weren’t sure how you felt about the inky creation.

 

Sure, when you first saw him, you felt a very deep and primal fear. But the same could be said for any new situation you have found yourself plummeted into. After the shock wore off, the monster didn’t give off a dangerous aura. If anything, you found yourself more annoyed when you found stains and piles of ink in random places around the offices.

 

But the annoyance didn’t sway curiosity, not in the least. Your ears perked at any mentions of his name - or variations of ‘ink demon’ or ‘that _thing_ ’, wanting to know the latest news and gossip. Your breaks were spent carefully watching out the reception’s office windows, imagining the scenario of if he just waltzed up to the desk. What would you say? Could it talk? Make any noise? Did it respond to ‘Bendy’, did it even respond at all?

 

When you had free time, you kept finding yourself wandering more towards the Gent offices. Towards Tom’s office. Debating if you had a question you could throw Tom’s way, or even something as simple as asking him to pass a message on to Allison. Anything to get a glance at the _thing_.

 

But then the thought of actually speaking to _it_ would hit you, and you would hastily begin scampering back off to the small front office you knew so well.

 

* * *

 

Paperwork had reached a new high the past weeks.

 

Being cross-trained had its benefits at times. You could be placed in a number of areas and do what you were told with little issue. But a recent rise in resignations have caused the studios to become understaffed, which meant an influx in work on _your_ shoulders. The worst part; it didn’t come with extra pay.

 

Mr. Drew did not seemed too worried about voice work as of late, either. Back to the usual grind, but now a bit more grueling and boring due to you and a few others having to cover for the empty spots in the studio. You missed it - being able to talk and be around the others, see your voice come alive on screen. But Mr. Drew was focused on his park, and all the things (both mechanical _and_ living...) that were to go inside.

 

The morning was quiet. It usually was when you clocked in, being one of the first to arrive. You didn’t mind the mornings; your coworkers enjoyed starting later in the day and you enjoyed getting a head start on paperwork. As for the higher-ups, they made their own hours, it seemed. You only asked that they showed up on time to meet their scheduled appointments. It was always a bad hitch in your day when you had to tell the people coming in that their appointment would have to be delayed - Mr. Joey Drew becoming infamous for this as of late.

 

You hum as you enter your office for the day – the up-front office before the main administration offices, a large window letting you see the lobby. A quick tune to a radio on the reception table filled both the lobby and office with music, making things a little less lonely. A large pile of papers filled a small box, labeled with “IN”. Not large enough to take you all day, but still large enough to cause a quick sigh. Either Mr. Drew could approve your request for a new hire for the reception offices, or you needed better pay.

 

You knew both of those were just wishful thinking.

 

With a deep composing breath, you begin your day - retrieving files, loading paper into your type writer, twisting knobs and rolling cartridges, getting yourself comfy for the long day of typing ahead. The first appointment for the day - a meeting with Mr. Piedmont about a pirate themed attraction - wouldn’t be here for another two hours. Plenty of time to make a dent in the pile of papers.

 

And if you got through with everything early enough, you could maybe leave at a decent time. Joey Drew does _not_ pay overtime.

 

You easily got lost in the mess of papers and music, finding yourself humming occasionally - another treat to being mostly alone in the morning. The wheels of your chair squeak as you slide across the way down the desk length, holding a handful of papers in your hand and tapping the stack down onto the table to straighten them. Perfect stacks, neat envelopes, marked folders and organized cabinets. At least being alone in the reception office meant everything stayed exactly how you wanted it - not a horrible mess.

 

A quick _tack tack_ of your typewriter’s keys tore those feelings away.

 

You spun in your chair - ready to scold the person for giving you a startle, but your words become stuck in your throat as your body turns cold, a rock settling in your stomach as you nearly bite your tongue.

 

 _It_ paid no attention to you, only your type writer, a dripping hand pressing on keys and--

 

Wait.

 

A new and sudden fear erupts in your body, one that quickly pushed the fear of the monster aside for the moment. You jump up your chair as you hurry over to your work, waving your hand at him to _stop_ and to _move_ , neither of those motions working as he continues to tap away at the silver keys.

 

“No, no _no_ -” your voice gets more of a reaction of him, at least enough for him to move his hand away and allow you to grip at the pile of bubbling ink that had covered your morning work. A loud groan leaves you - one you couldn’t control - really taking in the sight of the paper and machine totally clogged and ruined. You loved that type writer. It wasn’t overly loud, but still had a nice click to its letters, comfortable, easily loaded and rarely jammed--

 

Oh.

 

Your body turns cold for a second time, remembering the figure beside you. Or, no, you never _fully_ forgot he was there. It was only just now you truly considered what that meant.

 

You were alone with him.

 

You press your fingers together, fiddling them as you attempt to contain your not-so-collected emotions. A quick glance to him shows his grin - but that was always there, his usual face, somehow stuck like that. Should you... scold him? Was that even possible? If you did, was there any way to tell if he was even remorseful?

 

There was an uneasy silence in the room, the uneasiness coming from you solely. Even with the radio going in the background, you swore you feel static. You gulp, another attempt to compose yourself, and swear it's the loudest gulp to ever leave your body.

 

He is barely moving, watching your face, and a quick curious question arises on how he even _sees_. It’s obvious he does - the way he watches things and has a fascination with all things Bendy-shaped. But no eyes... maybe something else. Magical, spiritual, alien, you don’t know. Perhaps... this wasn’t the time to focus on such things.

 

His arm began to move then, gloved hand moving up and causing you to take a quick step back. He doesn’t seem to care about your movement, and instead just mimics a typing motion with it. You glance to the smaller and more humanoid hand at his side, watching it make the same typing motions. The human hand strikes a strange fear inside you, making you regret having a rich breakfast that morning, and hoping you don’t have to see it for a second time.

 

Was he... asking what you were doing? Was he watching you somehow? And even if he was simply asking a question, how on earth do you explain it to a... demon?

 

His typing motions don’t stop, and you figure out quickly that he isn’t just going to _leave_ without something gained.

 

With a quiver in your voice, you begin, swallowing down fear and hoping he can’t read it on you.

 

“Papers...” you manage to say, but no, that doesn’t mean anything to him. He momentarily stops the typing motion, but it continues soon after, signaling perhaps that he wants more. You try better this time.

 

“It’s... very important, in the morning” you begin, a deep breath and folding of your hands seeming to be just enough to stop your voice from shaking. “We are short staffed right now, so it’s very important to get things in order for the appointments today. Mr. Piedmont doesn’t like to be kept waiting...” You nod with your words, pretending you are talking to a new hire, as that makes a lot more sense to your brain than explaining your job to an ink demon.

 

“Joey Drew is very serious about certain things being in _perfect order_ , especially when it comes to park business...” When the words leave your mouth, a new reaction falls over the demon. His horns (or were they more like ears...?) seemed to move outward at the mention of Mr. Drew’s name. Your eyebrows furrow a little at the new bit of body language, and wonder quickly _what_ it meant, but quickly chalked it up to him understanding that Joey was the Big Boss of the studios.

 

Either way, it was proof he was actually listening to your words. You continue to explain a little more about what you do, bringing your chair back over to where it should be. His head tilts at times, and you wonder if this is the first time anyone has ever bothered to explain their jobs to him.

 

You focus again on your typewriter, another sigh leaving your mouth. The ink is no longer bubbling, but it has for sure coated the entire thing, deep into the gears and springs and other things you frankly don’t understand. The papers can be rewritten. The machine is another story.

 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a slow movement of black - the human hand of the monster reaching back towards the keys. Instinctively, you swat the hand away, mouth ready to scold him like a nosy child, but no noise coming from your mouth as a sense of intense regret fills you instantly.

 

He moved back then, obviously not hurt, but his large grin now... vibrating? Your breathing nearly halts completely at the sight, unsure of what such a thing even meant. Was he angry? Murderous? Sorry? Ready to lunge?!

 

Your hands grip tightly into nervous fists, nails sharp against your palm. “You’ve done enough,” you start, trying to reclaim your calmness from before. “You’ve already made my day much longer, it’s going to be a hassle retyping these papers...”

 

The vibrating grin stops at that, and a sense of relief washes over you. Whatever emotion he was having, it was done for now. But it had made a new silence wash over the room, only the jaunty beat of the radio offering some refuge.  

 

You feel somewhat hyper-aware of him, watching his movements, watching him watching you, unsure what to do next, unsure if you should tell him to leave or if you had the courage to walk off yourself. If you left, there was a change he would cause more of a mess around your office. If you both stayed, there was no way you could continue working with him watching you.

 

Distant heavy footsteps broke against the beat of the radio, and you turned to the doorway to soon see a very tired, very out-of-breath Thomas leaning against your office door frame. A flood of relief washes past your body when you see him, unable to fully express your thankfulness that you were no longer alone.

 

“Damn it...” he pants out, catching his breath between large breaths, raspy voice even more crackly than usual. “Really? This early?” He seems annoyed - but not at you, throwing a disapproving stare towards the monster in the center of your office.

 

The demon definitely reacts to Tom’s presence, backing up and making a low sound, something that reminds you of the unsure growl of a cat.

  
“What do I keep saying...” Tom wasn’t panting as much now, but still seemed tired. That was his usual, these days. Tired, inside and out. “If Joey sees you-” His eyes fall on you now, perhaps only now realizing you were there, but quickly glancing to the inked up typewriter on your desk. A new sigh comes from him, one mixed with a groan as he rubs his forehead, taking a moment to process everything.

 

“Go on, then. Get going,” his words to the demon are stern, “People are about to start showin’ up, and you know how Joey reacts when you’re out and about.”

 

The monster doesn’t seem to listen at first. Instead, his grin begins the vibrations once more, as if he was telling Tom off - but they quickly cease as he begins to slowly slump out of the room. If his body reminded you of anything, it was somehow similar to a child who just got sent to time out.

 

Tom gave a rub to his neck, stretching his back and pressing on it as if it needed a good pop. “Every god damned day,” he begins, and you answer with only a nervous laugh. “He used to just stay in my office, and Joey didn’t get too out of shape about that. But he’s wandering more and more...” There is an air of irritation in his tone, but you can’t tell who it was towards - the monster or towards Joey. You couldn’t blame him if it was the latter.

 

He turns to your typewriter then, making a few noises as he looks it over. “I’ll get this fixed for ya, don’t worry.” The way he says it suggests he might be used to having to fix a lot of things ruined by ink. “I’ll have Wally bring by a replacement until then.”

 

“I’m not that mad...!” you begin, a sudden need to defend the demon who wasn’t here to defend himself anymore. “I doubt he meant to wreck it, Tom. And besides, he seemed more... curious?” Yeah, curious. And maybe just a tad bit terrifying and nearly causing you to upchuck your breakfast, but Tom didn’t need to know that.

 

Another sigh leaves him. “Yeah. Don’t know if he’s actually dangerous, despite his appearance. At least not at first...” He picks the typewriter up, black sludge dripping from the bottom. There doesn’t seem to be much care left in him, when it comes to stains, as he holds it right against his body. His eyes meet yours then, and you suddenly feel like you’re looking into the eyes of your parents as he says your name in a warning tone.

 

“Stay careful. Don’t let some childlike curiosity bring your guard down.” He’s very serious in his words, and you mildly feel like you’re the one being scolded now. “We still don’t know what the hell he is, or capable of. But he seems to be able to go anywhere he wants - and that’s enough reason to stay weary.”

 

You answer with a quick laugh. “That’s not going to be a problem, Tom.” Heading towards a small closet in the office, you open it and grab a mop, used to having to get rid of puddles of ink by now. “If anything, I’m more on guard. I don’t know what’s harder. Building impossible machines for Mr. Drew, or making sure his horrible mess of files are kept in order.”

 

Tom gives a laugh as well, but it’s a worn-out one, and you worry for a moment that he is being overworked as well. You’ll see if you can mention something to Allison, next time you see her.

 

“I’ll have Wally bring you up that backup.”

 

* * *

 

Weeks later, and you’re finally back in the groove of things.

 

It was a late night, appointments done for the day, cleaning finished, and most offices locked up. As per the usual, you were overloaded, but you didn’t have plans for the night so it wasn’t horrible staying late. It wouldn’t show on your time card, however. No, no. No need to make Mr. Drew upset.

 

In a whole, things were going just fine. Your typewriter was back, nice and clean, though the ‘X’ key stuck now and then, not a huge deal as it was a rarely used key in the first place. Environment wise, the overall mood of the studios could be summed up with the word “gloomy”. You suspected it had something to do with the work load, since more people were following in suit of not showing up for work.

 

That’s the problem though. Under-staffing leads to more resignations - no one enjoys being overworked!

 

But you didn’t complain - at least not to your supervisors, they had enough problems. You enjoyed your job, most days. You enjoyed the friends you’ve made, the contacts you’ve gained, and the fact that you could someday tell your future grand kids you were a part (even if a minor part!) in the grand scheme of BendyLand was a huge bonus.

 

Your fingers type along, a low hum in tune with the radio, as usual, even your fingers typing along to a beat at times. Working at night was a little more calming than working in the morning, perhaps because you knew the day was almost at a close and you could head home soon. You weren’t completely alone - some stragglers stayed behind, locked up in their own offices or stuck on a project. But as for the lobby area and receptionists office, it was just you and your typewriter.

 

Which is why, when the hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand, you spin your head back towards the door, expecting a figure to be standing there.

 

Of course, no one was. Your hand rubs at the back of your neck, calming the eerie ‘you’re being watched’ feeling to mildly subside. Usually, you could always pinpoint when someone was standing in your doorway, ready to hand you another stack of files to be sorted and invoices to input.

 

You turn back to your typewriter, letting out a sigh - which quickly turns into a high pitched yelp, your body jolting back and nearly falling backwards as you manage to topple over your chair.

 

A grin has met you. A grin you’ve begun to know well, these weeks. The smile vibrates for just a moment, but for the most part _he_ only holds you in a stare.

 

Your eyes close, managing a deep breath. Remaining composed has been a skill point these days. You’ll be writing that on your next resume, if you ever need to find a new job. _He’s not here to hurt you_ , you tell yourself. You’ve come into contact with him a few times since your first exposure, and each time has only been a quick - and strange - show of interest. And staring. A lot of silent staring, on his part.

 

Calm now, you pick up your chair and place it back in front of your desk, sitting down and throwing a long stare right back at him. You’re never too sure what he wants, and you never know the right way to ask - knowing you probably won’t receive an answer in return.

 

“Do you... want to watch me?” you ask, not entirely feeling that would be an entertaining event for him, but there is really nothing else for him to do in here. There’s a good chance he will get bored and leave, which is a win for you.

 

He seems to answer in a quick head tilt, his horn-ears doing the smallest wiggle. It takes a surprisingly large amount of effort to tell yourself that it was _not_ cute, not in the slightest, not when it’s on a strange thin bodied inky demon... thing.

 

But, you take it as a yes, tearing eyes away from him (there’s no point in having a staring contest with someone that has no eyes, after all!), flexing your hands before getting comfy again in your chair, hands up and ready to type.

 

“Alright. You can stay, but don’t... _touch_ anything. Please.” A large part of you knows the request is probably lost on him, but you hold hope that he will take it to heart... if that is even possible for a demon.

 

Bendy - a name you’ve also begun to refer to him by, as it seems less cruel than calling him ‘the ink demon’, is a strange perk to the job. You hate to say that you don’t mind his presence much. It’s a lot to get used to - but who else can say they are working with a demon? In a way, you’re making history here!

 

Strange history.

 

Your fingers click along, but unlike before, he is... behaving. Watching, barely moving at all, doing as you said... Which leaves you feeling a little weird.

 

With a sigh, you stop, smacking the cartridge return to reset the paper’s position. “Alright, no, I can’t do that, no more watching.” It’s nothing against him, really. You’d feel weird if anyone was watching you, like some sort of show.

 

He responds once more with another head tilt and horn sway. God. How is it possible he is making _you_ feel guilty for wanting him to leave...?

 

You let your nails fall in rhythm on the arm of your chair for a moment, running a few ideas through your head. You need to finish your work, if these letters and invoices aren’t in the mail by tomorrow morning, Mr. Cohen may throw a temper tantrum, and honestly that poor man already has enough on his shoulders.

 

“...Okay. Fine, here,” you say it while standing up from your chair, walking towards him... and needing to move past him. He doesn’t seem to understand the body language of ‘please move out of my way’, so you suffice for carefully shuffling around him, trying to avoid ink covering your clothes.

 

In the small closet, you dig out the replacement typewriter that Wally brought up a few weeks ago. You hated this thing - it was loud and clunky and the ribbon never stayed where it was supposed to, but it worked for the time being. You placed it on the desk near you - though still far away enough it wouldn’t be a huge nuisance.

 

“Okay! there you go! You don’t need a chair, do you...?” You look to him, giving a quick glance at his body, never seeing him actually sit before, only stand and loom. “No... I suppose not. This’ll do..”

 

Paper next, rolled into the cartridge, ribbon in the right place... You look back to him, hands out, gesturing to the small machine.

 

“You can ink this one up all you want,” you give a small laugh as you say it. “It’s an older model, I used it while Tom fixed up my good one...”

 

He makes no movement towards you or the typewriter. You press a few keys then, staring at him while you do. “Give it a try.”

 

You shuffle past him once more, getting back to your seat and sitting back down, a deep breath and another hand flex putting you back in the mode for typing. After these tasks you’ll be done for the night, and you will be able to head home. You continue to type out your current sheet, ignoring his stare, focusing on the task in front of you.

 

You begin to get lost in it - numbers and quick calculations to go through before this invoice is done, and Mr. Cohen can sleep easy. But the eventual _click click_ of the typewriter beside you causes a quick pause in your own work - and a smile pulls at your lips. You don’t look over, though! After all, you’re busy with work!

 

The taps and clicks beside you continues, sometimes fast and a few times slow. There are times you can feel his gaze, figure coming closer to you and appearing at the corner of your eye, but it seems he is only observing. After a while you hear the sounds of paper being shuffled, the _ding!_ of the cartridge returning. By now, you can’t help the smile. You wish, in a way, you had a more entertaining job for him to mimic - typing isn’t exactly enthralling! But he seems to be liking it enough.

 

You could have just found Tom. There was a chance he was still working, but you really don’t care if a few pieces of paper are wasted, and that typewriter is already on its last legs.

 

Yeah. This works out just fine.

 

You lose track of time - but soon you are able to give a long stretch, arms reaching up as you give a quick little groan. You’re done! It’s near eleven! It’s way past the time of going home, but at least your “IN” box is empty, and you can run the large box of mail out to the mail room before tomorrow morning. Everyone is happy in the end.

 

“Oh-” you turn in your chair. As usual, it wasn’t that you forgot he was there, you never really _can_ forget his presence when he is around, but you became somehow complacent with it, enough to forget that he was something you need to _deal with_ , anyhow.

 

You put your last bits of files and mail items into neat stacks, soon heading over to him. There’s quite the mess, but you expected that, and honestly you’re surprised this little task held his attention or so long. There is a crumpled pile of papers next to the inked up typewriter, most likely due to hasty removal from the cartridge. You pick one up, curious if he managed to write any actual words, but a laugh is suddenly caught in your throat.

 

He looks to you then, stopping his typing. You hold a hand in front of your mouth, still holding in the laugh. It’s gibberish, something you expected, but the letter “B” is the most prominent. Over and over again, with the occasional random letter or symbol thrown in.

 

“Do you recognize the letter...?” you ask him, showing the paper, “is it because your name starts with a ‘B’?”

 

There’s no answer from him, but you didn’t expect one. He instead holds up the mess of papers, looking them over as well. You take it as a lesson - he seems to understand English speech just fine, and may recognize a few letters, but spelling and reading may not be a strong suit. At least for now - he seems to be a fast learner.

 

“You can, ah... keep them?” You suggest, a smile forming on your lips again. You have no use for the half stained ‘B’ filled papers, but you feel bad throwing them into the trash.

 

He gives a nod to your words.

 

A _nod_.

 

You’re surprised at how much the simple gesture threw you for a quick surprise. So he _can_ respond, and he knows what a nod means - perhaps even knows what a head shake means. This could open up easy communication - questions of yes or no. Your smile is growing, making you feel a little bit silly at how happy such a simple gesture is making you.

 

You need to control it, though, shaking your head to regain your train of thought. “You do need to get going,” you hope your tone is nice - not like the usual scolding that others give him. “If Tom knows you’re out and about...”

 

The words are met with the vibrations of his mouth - something you are beginning to learn means a signal of extreme emotion. So far you’ve only seen it in times of agitation, but there may be more to it...

 

“I’m not going to _tell_ on you, Bendy,” the use of the name causes the vibrations to stop, “I don’t want him to yell at you, and I’m going home for the night. There’s no one here to watch you so it’s best if you go back to his office...”

 

There’s the usual silence as he watches you. Is he thinking? He’s capable of comprehension, but does he think with words - and is it maybe in another language? There’s a lot of things you want to know, but tonight isn’t the night for such things.

 

His movements are slow as he moves, gathering the pile of papers, covering them almost entirely with ink. The typewriter is next to be enveloped in his arms. You have no time to ask him to leave it - the demon leaving your office as fast as he entered it, leaving nothing but a mess of ink behind - and you to clean it up.

 

“Fine...?” You say to no one, hands raising up, “I guess you can have it?” You wait for a moment, the only sound coming from the radio, and soon give a sigh as you head back towards the closet for the mop.

 

“Seems we need to work on ‘goodbyes’ next...”

 

 

* * *

 

Mr. Drew has been harder to deal with, these days. It’s a good thing you try your best to avoid him, when possible.

 

Bendy is most likely the biggest reason for Mr. Drew’s ornery attitude. The demon has taken a huge liking to wandering - at times pressing way past his usual haunts. Which has given you a strange (and very unpaid for) job, which is convincing the demon to _not_.

  
Tom doesn’t have a very... gentle tone, at least not with Bendy, and Joey has refused to speak to the demon ever since he was created. Most everyone else avoids him, which leaves you to, sometimes literally, clean up the mess. It’s a little hit-and-miss if you can convince the demon to hustle on back to his ‘room’, but it’s at least better than Mr. Drew locking the poor thing up.

 

He had grown a lot, Bendy. Mentally, of course. Hand gestures are used a lot more now, signaling answers and emotions. Most of the time it’s ‘yes’ and ‘no’, or a few other things he has picked up from watching the body language of others. Many of the others (including Mr. Drew himself) claim that he is not capable of human emotion - comparing him to a creature less than a dog. An empty husk of ink.

 

But those are fights you don’t wish to get involved with again. You’re already a hot gossip item these days. The butt of jokes and whispers, all of them having to do with Bendy in some way. Many of your previous coworker friends have refused to be around you, saying that they fear your ‘demon boyfriend’ showing up, as he tends to do at times.

 

You usually tell them off.

  
Even if the idea somewhat excites you.

 

But the thought is so totally asinine that there is no way you would humor it.

 

Bendy doesn’t have full reign of the studios, not yet anyhow. Mr. Drew is _very serious_ about him staying out of areas that the public may be. He is, after all, a secret.

 

Today, he has found his way into the break room again, causing a group of workers to leave the room and walk past you with irritated sighs and very obvious animosity towards you - and the creature inside. You move past them, ignoring the stares that you get, entering the break room and heading down the stairs and onto the main landing. He has made a mess out of one of the tables, but really, the messes were commonplace at this point.

 

You head over, automatically grabbing a few books that fell victim to the ink. You flick a lot of it onto the floor, grabbing a rag to wipe off a few pages. In the past months, you’ve learned a thing or two about cleaning up ink.

 

Which boils down to ‘it really doesn’t clean up at all’.

 

He looks up at you in a way that means he was at least paying attention, another book in his hands, and you quickly snatch that one as well.

 

“You can’t do that,” you start, trying your best to smear the thick sludge off the pages of this one as well. He doesn’t answer, but keeps his gaze locked on you. “Getting your ink over things like this. Books can’t be cleaned... replaced, maybe, depending on what it is, but it’s a lot of trouble.”

 

Still no answer from him, making you give a sigh as you place the moderately cleaned books on a different table. “It’d make people _upset_ with you,” you hope this one hits a bit better. His desire to please people doesn’t seem to be very large, but he doesn’t seem like the most destructive type either.

 

It seems to work, as you watch him move away from the table, looking down for a moment at the ink mess he has created. You give a worried smile. He can’t control the ink entirely, not when it’s literally his body. It must be hard to not get things ruined when your entire presence is making a mess of things just by existing...

 

He enjoys places where people frequent. You’ve learned that quite quickly. The break rooms, the factories, recording rooms. He seems to understand that he is not to show up in places with the outside public, and he stays out of the lobby and reception area. Unless its early morning or late at night. He’s smart - a quality you doubt many others see in him.

 

If it’s not busy areas, it’s areas that are full of Bendy merchandise and images. The toy factory and the small theater upstairs are two of his favorite places. Which gave you a small idea.

 

“Com’on,” you began, taking a step towards him. He never moved away when you approached him - perhaps knowing you wouldn’t hurt him - or _couldn’t_ possibly manage to do so. “The theater is free.”

 

It was all it took for his body language to perk up, standing taller now and easily looming over you, an action that you’d see as intimidating a few months prior, but now you could swear you could feel his excitement. Though the thought was mildly interrupted by the quick realization that he seemed _thinner_ than usual.

 

But that’s silly. He’s _ink_. He doesn’t eat and his size seems to be able to change at will...

 

You pushed the thought off, leading him from the break room, leaving the clean up to the others. If they wanted lunch so bad, they’d have to do a bit of mopping. He doesn’t follow you out, but he rarely does. He seems to have his own ways of moving about and popping up in random places.

 

When you arrive in the small theater, you find him already there, poking at the projector and shoving in a film reel. You hurry over to him, giving a playful swat at his hands and getting him to move back. “Go on, sit, you picked it out so I’ll set it up. This one needs an audio reel, anyway.”

 

He listens immediately - a very rear occurrence - and moves to the front of the room. He does sit, but not in a chair, putting himself onto the floor. It’s a little strange - you wouldn’t call it sitting so much... more like sinking into the floor, but it worked and you weren’t complaining.

 

You can’t help but smile as you load everything up. It’s a newer cartoon - at least, new _ish_ , made before cartoons were put on halt to focus more on BendyLand. You do your best to start the projection, syncing up the audio and hoping the words match up. These things were definitely not your strong suit.

 

The beginning tune starts up, a sound that has become nostalgic, and you sit up front beside him. You’ve seen this cartoon perhaps a hundred times, probably due to lending your voice to a small character in a later scene, but you wonder how many times he has seen this one as well. You have no need to watch the cartoon - instead, you find yourself watching him instead.

 

In a way, it’s very sad.

 

He seems happy when watching the cartoons. Sure, he’s always grinning, so the smile isn’t really a good indication at any emotion. But there’s something about the way he watches the screen, seeming to even sway a long at times with the bouncy music in the background.

 

He’s sweet. You won’t tell the others that you think that, as they claim he is soulless. It’s what made him a failure, after all. Something without a soul shouldn’t be able to feel. Empty husks, ink demon, monster, blah blah blah, the same old song that you’ve grown tired of hearing. You have no idea what makes a soul, if you’re born with one, if it’s granted to you, or if one even exists. That’s why faith is called faith, right? You just get to believe that something is true, and accept that it is.

 

Getting into the semantics of religion and ‘right v.s. wrong’ is something you’ve done way too often lately. It’s become more tedious than cleaning up the ink.

 

But he seems happy with the cartoons - that’s something you know, something you can see. He’s curious, and shows interest in things he hasn’t learned yet. He shows excitement for anything Bendy related. He _answers_ to ‘Bendy’. He, most likely, thinks he _is_ the Bendy that is bouncing along the black and white screen.

  
Something he won’t ever be, not really.

 

But you can’t tell _him_ that. Maybe he already knows. He has to realize his body isn’t the same as the small round little demon on screen. Sure, he may be a bit ignorant with human things, but he’s not an idiot, he’s not a child, he has to _know_...

 

Your hand grip, and you feel your nails dig into your palm. What is going to happen to him? He can’t become a part of BendyLand, and there’s no way he could ever be seen by the public without huge outcry and possible government involvement. Joey will most likely reach a point where he wants the demon destroyed, or gone.

 

If that’s the case, your house has a decent basement, not too cold, and your floors are wooden which makes for easy clean up...

 

No, _no,_ you can barely contain him inside the studio. There’s no way you could contain him inside a one bedroom house. Besides, what sort of existence is that? Forever stuck underground...

 

Your eyes close, looking away from him and forcing yourself to focus on the cartoon instead. There’s no point in getting upset over things you can’t control. The cartoon Bendy is heading down roads that resemble farm land, seeming lost and worried, before a flower - complete with a little face - pops up to help.

 

“I voiced that bit, you know,” you begin, hoping to give distraction to you both. On screen, the flower bounces and points with long leaves, giving simple directions to the lost demon. You can see the ink demon beside you now look towards you, horns more upright, looking back to listen again to the flower. It sounds a bit like you - you were obviously pitching your voice differently for the role, but you can definitely hear yourself. It was one of your last times helping out with voices, the memory making a sad smile appear across your lips.

 

Bendy then shuffles beside you, moving to the back of the room, the film suddenly stopping for a moment. You twist in your chair to glance back, seeing him messing with the reel. You trust him not to hurt them - the reels being items he seems to treat with respect.

 

He places it back soon, the cartoon restarting from the beginning, this time with no sound. You look back to the now silent cartoon, unsure on why he felt the need to restart it, but you’re honestly unsure about most of the things he does, leading you to simply accept it.

 

There’s a presence behind you now, and you fidget a little in your chair, knowing he is right at your back. Is he watching you, or the screen? You didn’t want to look up and find out - and the sudden gloved hand on your shoulder was enough to focus on already.

 

You can feel his other hand now, the smaller, human one. The fact that it’s so human makes the way it slowly trails on your throat all the more intense. Your eyes shut tightly, unsure of what was going on, unsure of what he was doing or wanted. It wasn’t the first time you had felt his ink. Oddly warm ink, living ink, swirling and dripping yet a solid body. A gulp forms in your throat - and you feel it move past his fingers.

 

You have to remind yourself there’s _nothing to be afraid of_. He’s never hurt you before. There’s no reason to start now.

 

He’s crouching, face appearing beside yours. The unnatural way he can move his body makes your back feel completely enveloped by him. The cartoon is still going, and you figure he is watching it again. The cartoon Bendy is heading back down the farm road that will lead to the flower that borrowed your voice.

 

There’s still no sound when the character shows up, voiceless words being spoken. Immediately, he turns his head to face you, and you sense for a moment he was _not_ happy at all. The gloved hand that was once on your shoulder now takes a hold on your jaw, moving it up and down.

 

You begin to catch on. The voice work. Odds are, he never was able to witness a recording session from Alison or the others, and no one takes time to explain to him the process of cartoon making anyway. This must be _news_ to him. You worry, for a moment, that it may be world-shattering news.

 

It takes a moment to clear the nerves from your voice, pitching higher as you mimic the old lines, hoping you remembered it correctly. There’s a nod to his head, and his human like hand presses fully against your throat, ink coating your skin, and your breath hitches with the sudden fear of being choked. But there’s no tight pressure. Only his penetrating stare and a quiet room.

 

Your eyes glance to the screen - only one more line coming up, and you don’t want to miss it. His face is close, too close, he’s never been _this_ close before, studying you. Your heart rate is definitely increasing, you can feel it pounding in your chest, but you don’t know if such a thing is lost to him. Can he tell? Does he know what it means?

 

Why does this feel

 

so intimate?

 

Your mouth moves as you match the words of the flower on screen, happy to focus on the line and not on your crazy thoughts. But his grin is vibrating, you can see it so close to you. A sound of nervous air leaves your throat. Is he upset? Happy? The vibrations are still an emotion you can’t pinpoint.

 

You could try to push him off - you know this. But there’s nothing to be learned from that, and it would only upset him more. Instead, you close your eyes, not wanting to focus on the grin right in front of you. In the dark, it’s only possible to focus on the sensation of warm ink against your skin.

 

Has he ever touched a human? _Really_ touched, not just quick grazes. Actual skin, beneath his fingers. _It’s all new to him too_ , you tell yourself. And since he hasn’t stopped, there must be a part of him that’s enjoying it.

 

The thoughts and images filling your mind are _silly_. Fantasies you’d never tell to anyone else, fearful of the reactions you’d get. But they are _wild_ thoughts that you can’t control, awaking your senses and causing your body to feel all too warm for comfort.

 

He’s moving to your front - his body shuffling around you, face still close to yours. Your jaw is tugged on again. Just being touched is enough to make your breath hitch. Does he want you to talk...? You’re unsure what to say, every line you’ve ever said in a recording booth escaping your memory in that moment.

 

“Bendy...?” you breath out, and it seems to be enough. His body grows more alert, watching you move, feeling the vibrations resonate in your throat.

 

Does he wish he had a voice?

 

It was talked about, from time to time, but a voice was never chosen for Bendy. Rumor was that Bendy was to forever stay a silent character, or that Joey Drew would be the one to lend his own voice. But it never happened. At least not in time for the Bendy towering over you.

 

You’re too scared at this point to open your eyes. Not of him, no. He’s not hurting you, and you highly doubt he is going to. It’s something else. Something you feel absolutely stupid for thinking.

 

Your own hands are moving up, both of them pressing against what you could call his cheeks. Wet and warm, a black sludge dripping down your arms from simply touching him. For just a moment, the contact seems to surprise or confuse him, but he doesn’t move back.

 

You’re not trying to kiss him.

 

You’ve kissed before. You’re not inexperienced!

 

This is _not_ the same feeling.

 

This is not some bubbly feeling of a first kiss with a high school crush, or the quick secret kisses on first dates on your doorstep.

 

This is something else. Something much more powerful.

 

Something

 

_Sacrificial_

 

The squeak of the theater door is more than enough to jolt you from your thoughts, causing you to quickly gasp and begin to push on Bendy’s shoulders, attempting to move him away. It doesn’t work. He doesn’t intend to move if he doesn’t want to.

 

You see a co-worker of yours, a young woman who occasionally works in the Gent offices nearby. She looks between you both, a twitch of her nose showing her very obvious disgust. “I told you,” is all she says, stepping aside.

 

Your stomach drops when you see Tom. Bendy has still refused to move, but his gaze has now also turned to face the open door.

 

Tom’s eyes close for a moment - he is obviously upset. He walks into the room, closing the door - basically right in the girl’s face, but he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to care at the moment.

 

“Oi,” his tone is dark, annoyed, “Com’on. Go.”

 

Bendy isn’t happy. He may not have a voice - but he has proven a few times to be capable of _sounds_ , a small hiss like noise emitting as his grip on your shoulder begins to turn very harsh.

 

You can’t help but wince, trying to keep your gasp inside as you push more on his frame. “Stop,” you whisper, hoping Tom isn’t hearing you but knowing that’s only wishful thinking. “You’re _hurting_ me.” If you can get him to stop without getting in trouble...

 

The grip continues for a moment, your pushing doing nothing in terms of getting him off. But he lets go, though not gently, tearing his hand away in a motion that nearly pulls you from your seat. He is obviously furious, some sort of growl coming from him as he glances from the screen, then to Tom...

 

Then turning from both of you, form moving straight into a wall, ink seeming to absorb right into it, disappearing and leaving nothing but a stained floor.

 

You gulp, fingers pressing together in a fit of nerves, looking to Tom and showing your best ‘I’m Fine’ smile.

 

“I think you’re making him resent me, you know,” he says.

 

You give a shaky laugh, “That is, uhm, not on purpose...?”

 

“It’s not? Could have fooled me.”

 

Your nerves disappear, throwing a glare his way now. You’re not looking for lectures, but you have a feeling one is coming your way.

 

Tom gives a sigh now, sitting down beside you. “What the hell were you doing?”

 

You pause for a moment, looking around the room. “...Showing him some cartoons? You know they calm him.” It wasn’t the first time you’ve done so.

 

“Not that?!” His voice is raised now, though still far from an actual shout. “I mean, what the _hell_ did I just walk in on?”

 

“Oh.” You wish for a moment you could sink into the walls as well, not wanting to have the conversation. Besides, you honestly didn’t have an answer. You have no explanation nor idea about what happened just now.

 

“To be frank, Tom, I... Really don’t know.” You hope he believes you, or can hear the truth in your words.

 

He gives no answer, maybe compiling thoughts. It only makes the room awkward, the cartoon on the screen only providing minor distraction. Tom’s a good friend, so is Allison. You don’t want to ruin that. You don’t want to hear the same things from them that you hear from everyone else...

 

“You’re letting this go too far.”

 

And there it is.

 

“Tom,” you begin, forcing your voice to be strict, “I’m not--”

 

It doesn’t matter, he cuts you off before you can build a defense, saying your name the way a parent would when scolding a child.

 

“You _think_ this is fine. You’re refusing to see the full picture here. You’re literally flirting with the devil.”

 

A different warmth fires up inside you now - body vibrating with a surge of anger. “Don’t _call_ him that!”

 

“So you’re not even denying it,” his palms open towards you as he speaks, “you’re more upset about me calling him the devil, than in the accusations everyone is throwing at you?”

 

“I don’t _care_ about the accusations, Tom!”

 

His mouth opens immediately to retaliate, but he stops, turning away and eyes closing as another exhausted sigh leaves him. You realize then you’ve been clenching your fists again, relaxing them and feeling small bits of pain from your palm where your nails most likely dug.

 

“You’ve heard it all before.” There’s spite in his voice, every syllable dripping with ‘what’s the point’.

 

It makes you feel guilty. Not for your actions - but for only giving Tom more things to deal with. It’s not easy dealing with Bendy. Or Joey. Or everything else for that matter.

 

“I get bibles dropped off in my office all the time, Tom. I’m well aware.”

 

“You’re getting way too close.”

 

“I told you, it’s not _like_ that. That, just now, was _weird_ and I think he was trying to--”

 

He cuts you off once more, not wanting to hear the excuse, “He’s getting attached to _you_ , that’s the problem here!”

 

You stall for a moment - his words hitting hard, but knowing not in the way he intended. You know he’s trying to scare you, but instead the idea only makes you feel...

 

Special.

 

“He’s becoming unruly now.” he continues, not waiting for your input, “Unruly for everyone else besides you, especially for _me_ , and especially anything coming from Joey!”

 

“It’s not _intentional_ , Tom!”

 

“God damnit, I know it’s not! You’re--” He stops abruptly, his own body seeming to tense before he sighs, calming himself. “You’re a good person. I know you’re trying your best.”

 

You give a nod to him, hands fiddling together, knowing there’s a lot of truth in the words he is telling you. The room grows silent, the cartoon reel over by now and going to just a blank white screen. It leaves you alone with your thoughts, allowing you to sort and compile them.

 

Bendy is... a weird anomaly.

 

He is deformed and strange, a broken image of what he should have been. At first glance, every fiber of an ordinary person’s being would scream that something isn’t right.

 

But he’s cute - somehow. Cute in his mannerisms and his curious ways. Clever. Obviously capable of terrifying things, but never showing the desire to harm you. He could break you, you felt it just recently, but even though it hurt you knew he wasn’t _trying_.

 

He’s warm.

 

He likes to be around you, for some reason.

 

You’ve grown to enjoy being around him.

 

Your fingers trail across your neck. It’s still slightly warm with ink. You can hear Tom fiddling with a lighter beside you, lighting a cigarette.

 

You’re not falling for Bendy. There’s no way. He’s not even human, even if his shape is somewhat human-like. Demon is the closest description anyone can ever give him. And falling in love with a demon... those are things that happen only in fiction.

 

“Joey is ordering him to be locked up.”

 

Then why does the thought only excite you? Is it such a bad thing? To be falling

 

Wait

 

What?

 

Your mind goes blank, barely able to process the words that came out of Tom’s mouth. He doesn’t speak, letting you take it in, and luckily it doesn’t take long to crash back down to earth.

 

“ _Excuse_ me?”

 

A thousand thoughts enter your mind, a thousand things you want to say, but the loudest one ringing behind your ears is simple; _What gives Joey Drew the right?_

 

But of course. Joey owns everyone. Especially Bendy.

 

A lump is forming in your throat, chest heavy, and you don’t dare try to speak just yet, knowing it’ll only cause tears to well.

 

Tom is careful with his words now. His voice, even if raspy, is gentle. “Joey thinks he’s getting too out of control. If anyone outside were to see him, it’s going to risk the studio it’s funding and future investors...”

 

Your nose wrinkles, looking away from the man beside you. Joey is so quick to pretend there is no financial decline happening in the studios, but it’s very apparent to anyone who looks at the paperwork.

 

“Not to mention, he thinks he has found a better way of creating the living cartoons,” it comes out strained, but you pay it no mind, not caring at all about future more perfect ink creations.

 

“So... that’s all?” you start, eyes narrowing at Tom, anger the only thing keeping you level headed at this point. “He wandered too far? Is that a sin, now?” Tearing your eyes away from him, your voice turns low, “really, Joey...”

 

“I agree with him.”

 

Your gaze jerks back now, wanting to tell him off, but honestly having nothing to say, no good reasons or arsenal to fire back at him. Your only defense is your convictions that he is not a threat.

 

“At least... for a little bit,” he says with a sigh, a cloud of smoke escaping his mouth as he does so.

 

“A little bit is still very much locked away, Tom!”

 

“Just until things are more figured out, and we can-”

 

This time, you’re the one to cut him off, standing now, “You mean until Joey finds a way to get rid of him permanently?!” Your stomach is twisting, never imagining you would be heard these things from Thomas.

 

Tom is quick to follow suit - standing and much taller than you, his broad frame causing a quick moment of intimidation, “And if he does? _You’ve_ become just as attached.”

 

 _And what if I am!_ Your mouth opens to say the words, but you stop, throwing a glare at the floor. He’s right. You know he’s right. You hate it so much that he is right.

_There’s no reason to feel so emotional about someone who, in all rights, does not and should not exist._

 

Tom is still looking down at you, but you have nothing else to say to him. No way to argue, no way to win. You don’t hold any authority over Tom, and Joey holds authority over _everyone_.

 

Instead, your best option is to _leave_. You move past him, ignoring the concerned way he says your name. You don’t want to hear it. Not from him. Not from Allison - knowing that she will hear about it from Tom eventually. No need to hear it from anyone anymore.

 

There’s No Reason To Be This Upset.

 

You still have _work_ to finish. You put things off that day to get Bendy out of the break room. No time to be upset, behind in so many things. Mr. Cohen is going to be expecting reports soon. Mail to be sent.

 

It’s stupid. _You’re_ being stupid.

 

He’s a demon. A strange broken deformed failure that’s not even meant for this world.

 

_Don’t think such things, they hurt._

Maybe locking him up is a good thing. Now you can get work done with no interruptions. You can just ignore this, leave it to the higher-ups, like you should have always done.

 

It’s not a problem.

 

Not a problem.

 

Not _your_ problem.

 

* * *

 

 

There’s definitely a problem.

 

He’s gone now. You do your best to not think about it, it only makes you feel a mix of anger and guilt. Tom showed up one morning and only told you ‘It’s done’. No explanation of how, or where.

 

It was done, and Mr. Drew seemed to be in a better mood.

 

Things were back on schedule, at least in Mr. Drew’s plans and ambitions. The park was growing, a section of the studios now dedicated to test rides and other developments. It was showing up in news articles as well now, and more and more appointments were being made for pitches and other curious callers.

 

Would have been great, if not for the random resignations.

 

No, _not_ resignations. Never resignation papers, never a notice or a warning of someone about to quit. Just not showing up. Not clocking in. Not clocking _out_.

 

Your suspicions grew, but you didn’t voice them. That wouldn’t be wise. And you were _done_ sticking your nose into things.

 

At least, that was always the plan.

 

Joey put in a request for your help on something. He refuses to give details on what, but you have a sick feeling it has nothing to do with voice work.

 

You want to tell him to _fuck off._ That you’re only here for your paychecks now, and on one has seen a raise in over a year. You want to tell him that you refuse to do a damn thing for him unless he reconsiders his choice from before, his choice about locking up the creation he never even once _spoke_ to himself.

 

But what Joey Drew wants, will eventually happen.

 

You’ll have to see him soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey nerds. Here's some places you can find me ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Main Twitter: [@witchpepper](https://twitter.com/witchpepper)  
> NSFW Twitter: [@icky_witch](https://twitter.com/icky_witch)  
> Tumblr: [@witchpepper](https://witchpepper.tumblr.com/)  
> NSFW Tumblr: [@ickyaliens](https://ickyaliens.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.
> 
> SO. PART TWO, of two. 
> 
> i updated the tags/summary a bit, hopefully for the better lmao. 
> 
> There’s not much to say for this one, besides  
> “we don’t really know where Bendy was locked away, so I’m makin shit up again”
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Have FUN

 

* * *

  

There’s no way in hell you are going to see Joey Drew.

 

Maybe he thinks you’re ignorant. You’re a woman, after all, and that seems to be all it really takes for most men these days. But you’re not. Things have been going to _shit_ as of late, and you’re not oblivious to it at all.

 

The leaks are the least of your worries now, even if they are sometimes causing massive floods of ink that span across entire levels of the studio. No, the ink is mostly just an annoyance right now.

 

You see the files. The invoices. You see things being brought in, ordered, sent out. You see who clocks in for the day, and who never clocks out. People are missing, and everyone else is ignoring it. They either know something, or _think_ they know something and are keeping quiet about it.

 

Wally isn’t even around to help with the pipes anymore. Maybe he’s missing. Or maybe he finally left, like he kept saying.

 

Everyone is afraid to say it, but there’s a thought everyone seems to be thinking. You can feel it in the air, see it in their eyes when you lock gazes for just a moment. Joey is up to something bad. And it has something to do with that damned ink machine, and the creations it pops out.

 

Tom did say, after all, that Joey had a new plan.

 

Tonight was the night. You decided that in the early morning, packing a bag and shoving an energizing breakfast into your mouth, even if you felt too sick to swallow it. You had the day off, which worked out in your favor. It needs to be tonight. Because if it’s not, there’s a chance Joey is going to catch on.

 

And then maybe you’ll go missing, too.

 

 

* * *

 

You rarely ever visited the theme-park section of the studios.

 

Well, it’s hardly a park. Mostly storage and test rides as well as a few offices and factories, most of it kept locked up tight and inside large buildings, all to keep out of the eye of the public. Joey has plans to buy a chuck of land to start development on the actual park soon, but such a thing takes money. And a lot of it.

 

In the past, you had only come to this area for simple meetings, seeing as a there was little need for a receptionist here. It was a long trek from your usual office, and you only came to this section during the day. Not in the middle of the night. You needed there to be no other workers around, not wanting a single word to get back to Mr. Drew’s ears.

 

You have a flashlight in your bag - among a few other things you felt could be needed. Necessities and emergencies. Good to be prepared. You make sure to carefully use the light, only when needed. After a good long hike through the concrete and dark buildings, you shine it upwards onto large wooden structure. A slightly tacky entrance to a haunted house. It looks like most other haunted houses you’ve seen at fairs. Was Mr. Piedmont _really_ a renowned of a designer...?

 

Nothing seems to have power - at least, not in a way you would know how to turn it on. But that wasn’t an issue - you weren’t here to ride it. Just take a peek inside. Besides, there was no real guarantee you’d find what you were looking for here.

 

Near the entrance of the haunted house is the maintenance doorway - much easier than trying to get the gates to open. From your bag you produce a ring of keys - keys that used to belong to Wally before he vacated from the studios. You doubted he would miss them, wherever he is, and place the flashlight down to begin trying a number of them in the door, jiggling the handle and twisting it, hoping for a lucky break. You have a crowbar in your bag, but you’re hoping there’s no need to bring it out tonight.

 

The knob finally makes a full twist, and an astonished laugh leaves your lips. It was a shot in the dark, but one worth trying. You shove the keys back into your bag, grabbing the flashlight once more and pulling the heavy metal door open. It creaks, but you’re hopeful no one is around to hear it, trying to let it close softly behind you.

 

The room is pitch dark, only the shine of your flashlight providing some help, creating only a straight beam to help you see. The main maintenance room is filled with things you don’t understand in the slightest, knobs and switches cluttered over large panels of machinery that you don’t plan on messing with. You shine your flashlight, hoping to find a single switch that could help your hunt - letting out a happy ‘oh!’ when you find it.

 

A sticker sits over the switch, simply reading ‘main lights’. The others around it all read more in depth into actual ride mechanics and turning off/on the animatronics. You didn’t need that - only the ability to see. You flick it on, having to put more strength into it than you would for a simple light switch at home, and were greeted with the first bit of relief; the room around you illuminating with a bright light. You take a moment to listen for anything concerning, like music going off or the ride itself trying to start up, but there’s only the flickering sound of the light above you. A good sign, for now.

 

 

You exit the room through a wide door that led to the actual tracks of the ride itself. The long winding room is much like a tunnel, with a track in the center that would usually carry a small car through the ride, small ghosts and other scares popping up on either side. The whole place smells of sawdust and oil, perhaps proof of recent work on the ride. Of course, nothing was up or running, and it looked nothing like a usual haunted house now, with lights from the ceiling illuminating everything in a yellow light. It at least let you turn your flashlight off for now.

 

It was memos from maintenance workers that led you to this place. Until only recently, you were completely unaware of where they could have put the ink demon, and a large part of you was always afraid they had just found a way to kill him. But it was the reports and notes sent to the studios, all from workers who were stationed in the park. Refusals to work on the ride until the ‘monster was gone’, and reports of people feeling uneasy and sick when tasked to work on the haunted house.

 

Even if the thought of keeping a demon hiding inside a test ride seems like a horrible idea, it’s the biggest and best lead you have. It was a lead that took you a large handful of months to get.

 

It makes you sick to think about it how long it had been. But you had to be careful. You had to be sure this was something you really wanted to _do_. And if Mr. Drew found out, well...

 

Seeing as your life was in the hands of Joey Drew as of now, that part didn’t really matter as much.

 

You were looking for a metal door, maybe locked with a few dozen locks, warnings of ‘do not enter’ or maybe radioactive notices. What you weren’t expecting was the large stone archway, boarded up with planks of wood, and the metal plate reading “BENDY” nailed into the front.

 

A smile forms on your lips. There’s _no_ possible way they would be that stupid, right? But even so, the doorway doesn’t match the kitschy theme of the rest of the ride. And putting up a sign with his name _would_ keep unwise workers from going further.

 

You place your bag down, reaching hands up to assess what you were working with. A simple tug on the boards confirms your suspicions of it being real wood, long nails hammered deep into the ends of all of them. Well, there goes your hopes of not having to use that crowbar.

 

Into your bag you go, pushing things to the side until you see the slightly rusted metal. It wasn’t yours - a tool you borrowed from a neighbor. Until now, you’ve never had a use for a crowbar. You told your neighbors you simply needed to open a box. It wasn’t a _total_ lie.

 

The crowbar is cold in your hand, bits of rust disturbing the smooth metal feel. You run a thumb across it, eyebrows knitting together as you really consider the reason you’re here; the plans to set free a demon that may or may not hold a very dangerous grudge against humans. It wasn’t as if you didn’t fight yourself on this before, many sleepless nights had led up to this moment.

 

You had thought, at first, that the time away from the demon would clear your mind. But with the studios falling into more and more chaos, the demon never _really_ left your head. Then again, you never fought it, either. When you finally found a lead to his whereabouts, you never gave it a second thought. You would find him.

 

There was a chance he wouldn’t be the same. Locked away for months on end. But your choices seemed to be facing the demon, or facing Joey Drew.

  
Did you love the demon? Maybe. Perhaps not in the sense you would love a significant other, or even a child, but there was a definite connection you couldn’t put a word to. He haunted your dreams and your thoughts, becoming a necessity, a constant fixation. You wanted him to be free - but you mostly wanted him to be _happy_ and not _alone_. To be the _cause_ of that happiness and any other good emotions he was capable of. And, if he wished to get revenge on the creator that locked him away, well, you had no problem looking the other way.

 

Maybe that in itself was a form of love. All you knew for sure was that you cared for the demon, and couldn’t stomach the thought of him staying locked up.

 

You grip the crowbar tightly, getting a good handle on it before pressing it between the wooden planks, focusing more on loosening all the nails before trying to pry the entire thing off. An ax would probably be a faster tool - but there was no way you could handle something like that, nor handle asking for it without a raised eyebrow from neighbors. The first plank of wood rattles to the floor, the echo sounding through the trackway of the haunted house. You can already feel yourself working up a sweat - and there’s still more to go. You can see behind the boards now - only revealing a sort of wooden door behind them. It was no matter - the crowbar could help with that.

 

You don’t know what could be behind the little wooden doorway. The idea of some planks and nails keeping Bendy at bay was foolish, but there was the chance of there being something more. There was _also_ the chance of there being absolutely nothing behind the wood door. A brick or metal wall. A dead end. That thought only makes you feel sick - so you decide to push it away for now. Instead, you push your hand through the gap in the wood planks, placing it on the wood door behind it, giving a hard shove. There was mild give, but nothing close to slamming open.

 

“Bendy...?” your voice is only a little higher than a whisper, but it sounds loud in the tunnels. The wood is cold beneath your hand, and you listen for any sort of answer. Shuffling, movement, a bang or crash, even the slightest knock. But there’s nothing, causing you to call out his name again, forcing it to come out louder.

 

The sound that answers you doesn’t come from the doorway in front of you. Instead, there’s a rumble, deep underground, something that shakes the floor beneath you and causes some of the fallen nails at your feet to jump and vibrate. For a moment - just a quick moment - shadows seem to pool around your feet. Either the shadows were moving on their own, or your eyes are playing tricks on you, as they seem to travel up in waves across the planks and doorway before fading away.

 

It’s enough of an answer for you.

 

There is a new surge of energy inside you, jamming the crowbar back behind the wooden planks and continuing your job to get them off. You may be, possibly, releasing a demon into the world. There’s a possibility of this having a bad ending. But that isn’t your fault - no - it was Joey Drew who decided to play god.

 

The last plank falls to the floor, and you quickly shove it aside with your foot, needing it out of the way and trying to keep your path mildly clear. The only thing stopping you now is the door - which is easily remedied, placing the crowbar between the wood and the stone archway, pulling away until the door slams backwards with a loud _WHACK!_

 

A sudden rush of air causes you to step backwards, almost losing your footing on the tracks of the ride. You’re quick to grab your flashlight, shining it into the doorway and feeling a rush of adrenaline just at the proof that there isn’t just a wall behind the barrier. No, no wall. But a stairway stands before you now.

 

You have your opening. Or maybe it’s an exit.

 

It’s taking all your effort to control your nerves as you look down the stairway. The flashlight isn’t providing much help, shining on stairs and a low vaulting ceiling, but you can at least make out the shadows of a floor below. A good story down - into the earth and underground, much like a basement. A strange thing to find, hidden inside a half finished test-ride in the middle of studio grounds. Which gave more proof that this is the place you’ve been looking for.

 

You shine your flashlight along the walls of the stairway, looking for a light switch and soon finding it in the form of a chain hanging from the ceiling. A good tug lights a swaying light bulb, and it seems to trigger a cascade of similar ceiling lights down the corridor. Nerves well up in your chest, a distance voice telling you how going down these stairs is the worst decision you could make. But the only way to beat the fear is to just ignore it, fake bravery, and _go_. Bag around your shoulder, and flashlight tight in hand, you begin your descent, not bothering to close the door behind you.

 

The room you enter is more of a hallway. Thin and long, unfinished drywall on each side and simple concrete flooring leading your way forward. The light switch you had pulled earlier did light up the area, but still leaving your journey dim. It’s not a never ending hallway - you can make out larger room in the distance, but it isn’t making anything less eerie.

 

You aren’t a stranger to horror, both in fiction and on the movie screen. But those black and white films could never really capture the true feeling of heading down into madness like this. They couldn’t catch the gentle shivers that had overtaken your arms ever since you entered this damn place, or the terror you tried to ignore at the idea of a demon not remembering your face. And they couldn’t catch the feeling of shock when your foot falls into a pool of ink, the wet sloshing sound echoing in the hallway, or the cold dampness traveling into your shoe.

 

This was terrifying. You throw a glare down to your flashlight - you weren’t here to be scared. You came here for answers, and to maybe set an innocent person (person?) free. The ink beneath your shoes doesn’t stop, only becoming harder to walk in as you finally near what seems to be the end of the hallway. The room has widened now, wide enough to fit a large two-door archway. The doors themselves are only wood, reinforced with some metal around the edges - but that wasn’t the part that was catching your eye.

 

No, not the large ornate doors or the now ankle deep ink that filled the room. It was the large circular symbol casted onto the wood, filled with symbols and lines that made no sense to you. It, of course, had a demonic air about it all, something you would see in the pages of horror novel, or worse. Only now did the thought hit you that the thing behind the doors could be something _other_ than the demon you were looking for.

 

You can feel your teeth chattering as your hand reached out to the symbol, sliding your thumb against the outer circle, finding that it rubs off rather easily. Your light shines on your finger now, rubbing the red pigment between your fingers, and feeling a twist in your stomach as you hope its red chalk or paint.

 

Is this what was keeping him inside? Some creepy symbol written on a doorway? You’d be damned if there were dozens of these around the area, but it wouldn’t stop you from finding every single one. A desire - or instinct - grows inside you to _destroy the circle_. You not sure why, or where the thought came from, but it feels like the right idea.

 

You place your flashlight now back in your bag, hand reaching down for a good handful of ink before throwing it in a swooping motion, managing to get a long splatter of ink across both doors. It may be enough, but you repeat the action a few times, just for good measure. The ink slides down the wood, catching bits of red paint (blood?) as it drips, making the sigil unrecognizable now.

 

There is no time to congratulate yourself, another deep rumble coming from beneath the floor again, the ink pool around your feet beginning to bubble. Whatever you did, it must have been the right thing. Or, perhaps, you did something very wrong, and something was angry. The doors themselves began to convulse, something in contact with them, making your body instinctively react and move backwards into the hallway, afraid they were going to break and burst into your face.

 

Something does rip the door open - but into the room, as if it was grabbed and yanked completely off its hinges. It’s swiftly just _gone_ , a crash somewhere deep in the darkness behind, and you quickly hold your bag to your chest, as if it could protect you. The tremors stop, leaving nothing but the sound of dripping ink. You have absolutely no where to go if you needed to run, nowhere fast anyhow. Tripping through ink in a dark hallway would be your only exit.

 

The door frame is grasped by a hand, large and gloved, and your breath hitches at the familiarity of it. You try to aim your flashlight on the figure behind the door, the beam trembling in your hands as you watch it step - no, _limp_ \- past the doorway.

 

His face appears to you first, the grinning smile nearly filling you with excitement, if it wasn’t for everything else. He was always _dripping_ before, yes, but not like now, ink falling from his face in large tendrils and strange dark shadows. Something about him is _dirtier_ , if even possible, and even through the large doorway he seems to have to crouch.

 

He’s towering over you, vibrating grin seeming to observe you as if the smile was his eyes. The dim lights in the hallway are enough to show his form - a form you don’t remember, skinnier to the point of resembling skin and bones. Only ribs, spine, and hips making up his main body, tall enough to loom over you and outstretch a hand.

 

Something is wrong. It’s as if you’re looking into a face of an animal who has no care for who you are or if you mean no harm. Your body is trembling, ink filled shoes working against you as you try to take a step back, falling loose and causing a misstep, sending you backwards into the ink. There is a pounding noise of his large hand next to you, splattering more ink and causing you to yelp, shielding yourself as the demon is _close._ Bigger, hauntingly so, you can definitely tell now with his face so close. For a moment you swear you can feel _breath_ emitting from him, heavy and nearly growling.

 

Everything inside you is telling you to scream, but you know that will only agitate him more, and possibly cause you to lose a limb. Instead, you bottle it, body reacting only with tears and more shaking, this time enveloping your entire body.

 

“It’s, me...” you strain out, barely able to say the words, gasping between them and screwing your eyes shut to avoid looking at the angry grin. Regret is filling you, one that mostly involves dark insults to your own self. He doesn’t remember you. Of course he wouldn’t. He’s been here for too long, alone in the dark. He’s angry, hurt, abandoned, and possibly hungry. There’s no reason for him to not kill you now and escape this place.

 

But there’s no claws tearing you apart. In fact, the strange growling breath that was hitting your face subsides, and you open your eyes to see the demon, still towering and near-pinning you to the inky floor, now looking at the door that once contained him. He’s quick in his movements, almost as if he is paranoid, looking from the door and towards the hallway. Assessing the situation. You want to tell him no one is here to hurt him.

 

You nearly yelp once more when his gaze snaps back to you. His once more human hand, now more resembling a claw with long sharp nails, moves towards your face. Immediately you wince, not wanting the claw to take out an eye, and sharply breathe in when it runs along your cheek. You’re crying, you knew you are, unable to control it with the fear welled up inside you. Perhaps it was confusing the demon. Maybe that’s a good thing.

 

You want to open your eyes, to try and talk to him again, but your entire body is being _grabbed_. The only thing you can hold onto is your bag, and you clutch it to your chest as the demon is suddenly lifting your body and _dragging_ you through the ink, past the broken door and into the dark room behind. You’re doing your best to make no noise, no screams, only clutching your bag and not bothering to struggle.

 

You’re dropped - no real regard for your safety in that measure, but there is still a good ankle-deep pool of ink in the room to cushion you. He has left you, footsteps in the ink traveling away, and you allow yourself to get a good look at the room around you. There’s... nothing. Even with the help of your flashlight, you see nothing at all. It’s empty, unless you could call the dripping sludge of ink across the walls and floor ‘decor’. No windows, no lights, just a large room with a single entrance, full of the sharp bitter smell of ink.

 

Just a dark prison and nothing else.

 

Your flashlight catches him now, away from you and facing back towards the open doorway. You manage to stand, ink dripping from your body and clothes, as well as your bag... there was a change of clothes in there, just in case this happened, but you had a feeling they wouldn’t be much use to you now that your bag was sitting in three inches of ink as well.

 

You ignore your clothes for now, careful steps leading you towards the demon and using your light to get a better look at him. He doesn’t seem to be as tall now - something he must be able to control, but he still seems malnourished somehow. Light flickers across strange spikes leading down his back, causing a small hunch in his stance. His hands lay at his sides, fingers moving in a way that immediately reminds you of the day he mimicked your typing, months and months ago.

 

Thinking. He’s lost in thought, you tell yourself. He’s been stuck down here for ages, there’s a good chance he may be convincing himself this is actually happening.

 

“Bendy...” your voice is soft, but it’s returned with a growl, his body twitching in an unnatural way. He may have been telling you to shut up, but you still continue, so many things welling up inside you that need to be said. “Bendy, _please_ , I-.... It took so long to find you.”

 

It feels pathetic coming from your mouth. You wonder if he even cares, locked down here for so long. But you’re not here looking for forgiveness. You just couldn’t live with yourself, knowing he was abandoned and alone.

 

Ink sloshes as you take another step forward, a hand reaching out towards his frame. “Just... listen to what-”

 

His movement stops your words immediately, quick and grabbing at the arm you outreached, twisting and slamming your entire body down into the ink, flashlight falling from your grasp and disappearing. The yell that comes from you isn’t one you could have kept in - both in fear and pain. If it wasn’t for the ink pool, the move may have actually done a good amount of damage. But he doesn’t seem to care, his body putting pressure on your frame as he begins to tower over you entirely. You’re being pushed wholly into the ink, almost high enough to trickle into your ears, causing a different sort of panic.

 

Your breathing is heavy as you watch him, his face seeming to look you over, examining you. It’s dark - you can barely see him, the only light now coming from the open doorway. But he seems to be able to see you perfectly, his own ink falling onto your face and body.

 

“I’m sorry...” you whisper out, but it catches his attention, “you didn’t deserve any of this.”

 

He answers with the vibrations in his grin, and you suspect the words have upset him, but you continue. “They put you here, and it took me so long to find you. I’d have come sooner if I could.” It was... a mild lie. You may have just found his whereabouts, but it wasn’t until you really began to see the truth behind Joey Drew himself that you got to this point.

 

The pressure against your body is still hard, his gloved hand still pinning your torso and constricting your movements. You could kick him off, sure, but that wasn’t going to help calm him at all. Talking softly seemed to be doing the trick, you just wished you didn’t have to do it with ink threatening to enter your ear canals.

 

“Joey...” you began, hoping to tell the demon everything going on, but the name itself is met with a low growl and--

 

Teeth

 

Those are _teeth._

 

You breathing turns ragged, body beginning to struggle beneath him. No more grin, something different, morphed into an actual open mouth with sharp teeth, oozing black sludge between them. Fangs that could easily rip your throat out if they wanted.

 

“Y-... You’re free, alright? You can leave, teach them a lesson, do whatever you want,” you’re craning your neck away from his jaw, not trying to look him directly in the mouth. “I won’t let them lock you up again.” There was, of course, nothing you could do to prevent such a thing. But you would try, even if it meant showing the world who Joey Drew really was.

 

Wet breath is hitting your neck, and your eyes screw shut once more. Is he going to bite? Kill you? You never once saw him eat, but even demons need some sort of sustenance, and he must be so hungry at this point.

 

You grip your hands, fists forming as you control your urge to kick and fight against him. No. You need to _calm down_. Don’t show fear. That’s all he has _ever_ gotten from everyone else.

 

“Bendy...” your tone is tight, but calm, working to reach a hand up and place it near his cheek and hoping he sees it as a kind gesture. “you need to _calm down_.” He’s still close, teeth grazing skin, black drool falling down your neck. You’re shivering, but not letting your voice show it now, “if you don’t, you’re going to _hurt me_.” It was always his limit before, never seeming to hurt you. You hope it’ll still be the same.

 

It takes a moment, but the pressure against your chest subsides, though his mouth is still open and baring its fangs. You’re able to properly move both your arms now, using it as a chance to place both of your hands on either side of his face, holding his cheeks and forcing him to look at you.

 

“None of that,” you say, thumbs rubbing against his inky form, “you have no need to defend yourself against me.”

 

This had never happened before. His shape was never this... horrifying. Did he learn it here? Was it the hurt and neglect and rejection? Or was it pure hatred that caused this side of him?

 

And there was more. You could feel it, a sense that this wasn’t the full extent of his anger.

 

He begins to sit up now, onto his knees and allowing you to do the same, finally saving your ears from the ink. You watch as his mouth closes, but it doesn’t morph back into his usual grin, instead staying a mess of sharp teeth. Only now in what you could easily call a frown.

 

It’s silly, how much the frown excites you. Your hands move again to either side of his face, really getting a look at it, your eyes having adjusted a bit more to the darkness. “Are you... frowning?” you ask, though it’s more directed at yourself. Emotion - real emotion, even if emoted by razor sharp teeth, is being shown on his face. You shouldn’t be this excited about a _frown._

He, honestly, doesn’t seem to care, not forcing your hands off of him but looking away and back towards the open door. It’s strange. Not seeing the forced grin makes his demeanor so much easier to read. It has you wondering how many negative faces he truly wore under that grin, back inside the studios.

 

You shuffle, sitting up fully, your movement enough to entice a small warning growl from the demon, though his gaze doesn’t leave the doorway. Is he intending to leave? That was the plan, after all, but you have no idea where he is going to go. You never thought the plan _that_ far out - you just knew he needed to be freed, and after that you could make it up as you went along.

 

“Joey,” you begin again, hoping his reaction is less intense now that he seems calmer, “he’s doing... a lot of bad things, Bendy.” It’s met with a low hiss like noise, the frown beginning to turn into a snarl, but you continue. “No, I know. But you need to listen to me.” It wasn’t often you used a strict tone with him, and had been a long time since you’ve _had_ to use it, but you needed to get a leg up somehow.

 

There is a chance he doesn’t care. You tell  him anyway - everything you know, and think you know, about the state of Joey Drew Studios. There is a high possibility you were wrong on a few things, but seeing as you were talking to a real demon right now, you figure you aren’t far off.

 

He listens to you, horns showing a sway from time to time, but his interest does not seem very high. Mentions of other creations seemed to pique his curiosity, but you don’t have much information on such things since you were never let close to the machine in the first place. You can only assume that the disappearances had something to do with it all.

 

A sigh leaves you as you pull your knees closer, the cold ink around you beginning to give you a chill. “I got summoned, too, by Joey. He wants me to come to a one-on-one meeting tomorrow...”

 

It’s met with a true snarl now - teeth agape again as his horns move outward, like a cat in a defensive scowl.

 

You hold your hands up, waving them gently, “Don’t worry! I’m not going! That’s the whole point of me _being_ here.” His stance returns to normal after you say it, mouth going back to the slight frown, which seems to be his true neutral state. It’s strange, but the reaction makes you feel somehow special, knowing he was very obviously enraged at the idea of you seeing Mr. Drew.

 

You give a laugh, feeling tears well again. It’s silly. So many times tonight you were sure you were going to die, either by the hands of the demon or by Joey Drew. You’re still unsure if this love-like emotion is one sided, and maybe it really is, but just him being somewhat protective over you is enough to make this entire journey feel worthwhile. You begin to wipe at one of your cheeks with a sleeve, but the other is suddenly brushed by an inky hand.

 

You wince - but you’re not afraid, looking up at the demon and feeling a smile grow. Maybe all these random tears are confusing him. “It’s fine,” you begin, “ _I’m_ fine, humans are just really silly, you know? We cry for real stupid reasons, sometimes.”

 

His head begins to tilt, perhaps not convinced by your words, fingers still playing at your cheek. His hand is no longer clawed - once again the more humanoid hand you remember, with his thumb lightly brushing your cheek, similar to the move you made before. You begin to chuckle - but let out a quick yelp when the gentle touch turns into a hard pinch.

 

It didn’t hurt _that_ much, but the reaction was automatic, and his hand reeled back in response. You rub your cheek, giving a laugh. He obviously was new to touching another living person. Besides for the moment right before his imprisonment, this was still a new thing for him.

 

He looks down to his hands then, flexing them for a moment, and you watch as the gloved one begins to morph, shrinking in size and becoming humanoid like the other. You let out a laugh, “have you always been able to do that...?” but only getting a short trill in response. Has he always had the ability to alter his shape? And if so, is the only reason he kept the forced smile was because it resembled Bendy?

 

Both his hands go to your cheeks now, softly pinching but more pulling you closer. You can only move so close, finding yourself sitting on your knees, and between his own. It’s intimate. God, it’s intimate, but you don’t think he realizes it at all - or even cares. You can feel the ink drip from his hands and onto your shoulders, but there’s no point in worrying about that - you’re basically drenched in it now.

 

He’s examining you, and you can feel your face grow warm at the intensity of his stare. His thumbs brush against your skin, soon traveling to your ears, pulling on them and tilting his head closer. You figure it’s been so long for him. To not only see someone, but to feel something against his hands. So you let him, your eyes closing, a part of you enjoying the feel of his fingers exploring.

 

There’s one of his hands in your hair, but it’s not tugging, the other traveling down your neck. Your mind wanders back to the first time he really touched you, back in the theater, and your breath hitches at the warm ink against your throat. You can’t help but laugh, a vibration causing his hand to dance against your skin.

 

“Do you know,” you begin, eyes opening to watch him, “what humans are made out of?” There’s no answer from him, only more pokes and prods to your skin and hair. You continue, not knowing a whole bunch about medical things yourself but enough to appease a curious demon. “Cells, and tissues. It’s a complex system, but very fragile.” There’s another trill like sound that leaves him, reminding you again of a cat, and his hand begins to wander your body more - feeling across your shoulders and arms, a shirt blocking his access to more skin.

 

This is... silly, the things you’re considering.

 

You gulp, removing your thoughts from those areas. “We have bones, and muscles, and blood... if we lose too much of it, we die forever, no coming back...” There’s a growl in response, the fingers on your neck beginning to press tighter, enveloping you more, making you gasp. Not because you’re scared, no. You’re past that, _way_ past that.

 

Does he even know?

 

You’re down, underground, sitting between the knees of a dark demon in the middle of some sort of inky prison. The only bit of light illuminating the place is from a broken doorway and cheap ceiling lights. It’s not exactly a comfortable place nor romantic place to be doing such things...

 

And yet, every part of your soul is telling you to bare all.

 

You’ve already set a demon free into the world with every intention to follow him in whatever he decided to do. What’s the harm in starting right now?

 

You sit back onto your ankles now, making the demon’s hands fall from you. Your own hands begin to pull at the shirt around you, making quick work of it. It’s soaked now with ink, so pulling it off feels a bit gross, and you let it fall into a mess on the floor, only a bit of it peeking out of the ink pool like an iceberg. Your shoulders and arms are now bare, an undershirt still covering the rest of you, but still full of new skin to touch. He is quick to take the invitation, dark hands ghosting softly at your arms.

 

His touch is warm, which is a welcome sensation in the middle of cold ink. Your eyes close once more, hands sitting patiently on your legs as you let him have his fun, no idea where ‘ _his fun’_ will actually stop. His fingers run across your arms and shoulders, taking time to run down your collar bone, causing your skin to feel absolutely alive.

 

There is a grab at top of your undershirt - and you quickly realize the removal of your clothes had only signaled some sort of express permission for him. Without any real effort, the undershirt is torn from you, Bendy taking time to look at it in his hand with a bit of curiosity before letting it fall to the ground, quickly disappearing under ink. It’s a good thing you brought more, even if they are in an ink muddled bag...

 

You still have a bra on, but you have a good feeling that won’t be for long, as the already naked demon seems to have little care about clothes. You lay a hand across your chest, throwing a quick glare his way when the hand comes back, your other hand going to grab his arm and stop him. You can feel, the way he stops, that he could easily overpower you in strength. But he still stops, head tilting at your action.

 

“Just, give me a moment,” you breath out, eyes closing. Even if you’ve tried to mentally prepared for this, it’s going _really fast_ , not to mention the shock of it _actually happening_. There is, currently, two outcomes in your mind.

 

One, the demon simply is curious at human anatomy and is playing out that curiosity. Ge will eventually get bored, and both of you will leave this place.

 

Two, the demon is still curious, but is definitely aware of his more... intimate interactions, and things are going to get a lot more heated before you eventually leave.

 

You’re embarrassed to even think it, but you’re hoping for the latter. Even if it’ll happen in a cold dark dripping ink prison.

 

You let go of his arm to undo your bra _yourself_ , not wanting him to end up ripping it. “I only have this one,” you lie, giving that the reason of having to stop him for a moment. You feel little shame as you let it fall from your shoulders as you shrug it off, trying to toss it towards your bag - but missing and watching it fall into the black pool. You narrow your eyes to the sinking garment, but brought quickly back to the matter at hand when you feel warm ink against your skin once more.

 

A nude body is... probably no big deal to a demon, so your need to cover yourself is somehow nonexistent. His hands are on your body again, not a drop of shyness in him as he runs it across your skin, a second hand moving around to the small of your back. He presses it there, causing you to no longer sit on your ankles and more on your knees, body much closer to his. He begins to cup one of your breasts for a moment, fingers squeezing and tugging, seeming honestly interested in the new addition to his play and totally unaware of the electric feeling it sends through you.

 

You let out a heavy breath, arms shaking and unsure where to put your hands. “Hey,” you begin, looking up into the sharp teeth as if they were his eyes. “Do you... actually understand what you’re doing?”

 

Demons are creatures of sin and lust, or so any church will try to tell you. But his ignorance in certain things makes you unsure if he actually knows how much this is affecting you. Your mind was no stranger to the fantasies at this point. Even when he was allowed to wander the studios, the thoughts drifted into your mind, usually at night where you were free to let your mind wander as well. If this ended up just being his curiosity...

 

You watch as a snarl hits his mouth again, teeth baring as he moves closer to your neck, the hand on your back nearly removing you from the ground entirely as you’re brought close into his body. Your hands finally have a place - on either side of his chest as you brace yourself, the sensation of sharp teeth poking at the side of your neck and shoulder. You’re breathing heavy, your sense of fear only adding to a spike in arousal, something only made more intense by the sudden wet appendage against your skin.

  
Tongue, it’s a tongue. It was your best guess, seeing as it came from his mouth, forked yet thick, swirling against your neck and earlobe. Was this his answer to your question? Your neck cranes to the side, eyes closing and hands gripping into the soft yet solid ink of his body. One hand remains on your back, still lifting your knees from the floor as he’s pulling you against him, the other digging into the skin of your hips as his tongue is making quick work to your neck and chest.

 

This isn’t _foreplay._

 

This is something akin to staking a _claim_.

 

This is only mildly like your fantasies - you never did imagine the mouth _._

 

He’s moving, his entire body beginning to sway as your position seems to be changing. You trust him, letting your body go limp as he easily shows he has the strength to lift you. It’s still hard to see in the room, especially when almost everything is black on black, and you have a suspicion his body is able to blend and morph into the ink beneath you. But he seems to be sitting now, welcoming you into his lap as he places you there.

 

Your back is against his chest, laying against him. He’s warm, which feels great after the cold pool of ink you were stuck in for so long. Both of his hands are free now, traveling your body, claiming all of it and causing a shudder to run down your spine and into your more sensitive areas. You’re arching your back to his touch - not even meaning to do it, and you’re rewarded with his tongue sliding across the back of your neck.

 

The rest of your clothes are being removed - at least the things that matter, with barely any effort from yourself. The demon has little care for it all, dropping your clothes beside the both of you, and you know there’s low chance you’ll be getting them back. Hands are coating your body in ink, but you don’t care, finding refuge in his frame. A palm begins to knead at your breasts again, enticing a low groan to escape you. He gives a growl to your reaction, possibly enjoying it himself, teeth grazing at the cuff of your ear. If he bit down, he could cleave it from your body entirely - but the danger is only adding to everything else.

 

Even if his touch is shameless, it’s still only teasing, leaving you hungry. You take one of his hands in yours, guiding it down and towards where you really wanted it, where it _needed_ to be. He seems to understand, wet fingers slipping between your folds and continuing to experiment with his touch. He’s inexperienced - yet somehow akin to it all, catching on quickly to what makes you mewl against him.

 

His fingers are quick to find your entrance, delving deep without warning, making your entire body begin to arch. There’s no need for any real prep, not when the demon is literally made out of a living liquid. Even so, the sensation is a shock, leaving your breath heavy and rigid, eyes closing as you hold your arm over your face.

 

It’s only now that you begin to worry about the _ink_ inside of you. You never had to worry about this in your wild fantasies, but _now..._

 

Your brain can’t muster up the effort to really focus on _worries_ right now. It’s only a few fingers, but the pace already has you biting your lip, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. The tears don’t stay for long though, the forked tongue rubbing against your cheeks as soon as they form.

 

You could easily get off to just this alone – but after a short while he begins to move, fingers leaving you as he picks you up. You try to make yourself smaller, to make things easier, but there’s seemingly no issue to him. In the darkness you can barely see him, but you can hear the sloshing of ink as he’s walking. There’s a flash of cold against your back, your body being pressed against an ink covered wall, large globs of it moving down to almost glue you in place. You can’t reach the floor - making you now face level with the demon.

 

His body is being pressed against your own, all of it leaving a mess as he continues to growl against you. There’s heavy breath leaving him, perhaps signaling he’s enjoying himself so far. You’re able to move your legs around him, easily hooking and resting on his hips (or, more of a pelvis _bone_ at this point), tugging his body even closer to you and enjoying the warm ink across your skin. It’s a movement he definitely notices, pulling his head back to look down, a hand moving to your legs to gently run across the skin.

 

He seems to be thinking, his hand beginning to pinch and pull a little more at your inner thigh. You had noticed it before, usually during lewd thoughts that’d keep you up at night, but these past few moments you have become more painfully aware at his, ah... _Lack of hardware_. It’s not a huge problem, you figure. There’s other ways to have fun, and you’re certainly having it now.

 

But it’s a problem he seems to be aware of as well. You can barely see it - but you can feel _all_ of it happening. It begins as a slow creep, warm arms of ink swirling across your inner legs, wrapping around them, keeping them in place. They move like eels, or more like _tentacles_ , twisting around your lower half. Your arms reach out to wrap around his shoulders, face hooked into his neck, heavy breath hitting your arms. You can’t help the sudden twist that happens in your stomach - not disgust, but more similar to fear of the unknown. It was _warm_ , and a part of him, part of the _ink_ , but this was _definitely_ something you didn’t mentally prepare for.

 

The ink tentacles are not wasting any time on waiting around, a thicker one sliding between your folds, exploring and pushing against both your entrance and your clit - causing a wave of pleasure that’s nearly _painful_. You hear a trill in your ear - the same catlike noise he always makes when he is apparently happy. It may have just been his own excitement causing the sound, but you take it as a calming tone, even if it wasn’t meant that way. You press your forehead into his shoulder now, hands grasping into his ink body. This is _actually happening._

 

You feel the thin head of the tentacle probe around you once more, but as soon as it finds your heat it _plummets_ forward, forcing a rough yelp to escape you. It’s _thick_ , but not causing any intense pain, not with how wet it already is. There’s no friction at all, but you can feel it pulsing as the entire thing begins to fill you, twisting and curling. It must be something that feels good to him too, as you can hear his own breath become short and winded at it all, his hands gripping tighter at the softer parts of your legs.

 

At first, it’s painfully erotic. Not enough to lose your mind over, but enough to cause you to nearly bite through your lip. It’s like a snake inside you, grinding against sensitive parts. You know, in the back of your mind, that it’s all _ink._ This couldn’t be healthy, or good for you. But it was _living ink_. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you. Maybe it would allow you to become _one_ with the ink. Maybe it was his way of claiming you.

 

There begins to be a new movement - one you are more accustom to, his hips pulling back before a thrust is sent your way. Not just one, but many, the slick tentacle following suit and filling you completely each time. Your arms begin to push on his shoulders, back arching as your hips press into him all on their own, hungry for it, grinding against him and causing more growls to escape his dripping maw.

 

His face is still close, and you can’t help the need anymore, too frail to fight it off. You place a kiss to the bottom of his chin, small and panting through it. It’s not enough, though, and you begin to plant them all around his open mouth, whines coming from you with every thrust forward you receive. You’re not expecting to be kissed back, not with a grin like his, but his hand suddenly takes your jawline to cement you into place. His tongue finds his way to yours - tasting like bitter ink, but you find yourself not caring at all. No, not a kiss, but the closest you may be getting.

 

Your hands are near digging at him, sinking into his ink body but not appearing to hurt him in the least. There’s more tears falling from you, your peak close, each tear being quickly lapped up by his tongue. You can’t tell if he is enjoying this in a ecstasy way, but there is for sure a part of him that must be enjoying your reactions to it all.

 

There’s more swirling tentacles around your body, helping to hold you and widen your legs to him, to which you do so gladly. The small tips, now rubbing between your cheeks, insistent on more than just filling _one_ hole. In truth, you couldn't bring yourself to be bothered by this, no care or worry left when it came to him. With another thrust you cry out, back arching as it enters you with gentle force, and you feel yourself become entirely _full_ of him, twisting and grinding inside of you.

 

Your toes are curling as an orgasm hits you hard, halting your breathing as you shudder out a gasp. He’s not stopping, him nor his ink, only giving more low growls into your ear as your body tightens around him. For a moment your body becomes a shaking mess, overstimulated and needing just a moment to breathe and unclog your mind. But he’s not giving you that, not even a second of it, sending you past limits you never knew you had.

 

It’s almost too much. Almost. He seems to somehow be aware of both his and your limits, pushing them but not breaking you just yet. Your filled, all of you, and his tongue continues to make quick work to busy your mouth, still not _kissing_ but overtaking you entirely. His claws are digging at you, not breaking skin but _so close_ , and you reach a point of feeling ragged. He might have endless stamina, you realize. There’s a possibility you may just pass out, and he’ll end up continuing until you wake back up.

 

There’s ink all around you, inside you. Maybe he really _is_ making you become one with the ink. It’s a thought that would have scared you months ago, but in the moment you wanted nothing else than for it to be true. You could swear you felt more of the tentacles entering your body, stretching you to impossible lengths. None of it hurt - maybe it was the ink making you feel no pain. Instead, you’re a mess of noises, moaning into the demon’s mouth and feeling yourself near screams as your body is only building up for another peak.

 

Your noises must be fueling him, teeth beginning to dig at your shoulder. There’s a sharp pain, but your body reacts with only pushing you closer to orgasm. He may have broken skin - but that’s fine. You’re actually wishing he did, marking you deep with a scar that won’t disappear. Proof that tonight was really happening.

 

It hits you harder than before - all over your body, everywhere the tentacles have invaded, the pain still shooting from your shoulder but somehow only making it more _powerful_. There’s something _new_ , filling you more than just the tentacles, and you can feel it spilling from you in thick globs as low rumbling growl hits your ears. Broken moans fall from your mouth, entire body shivering at it all, feeling limp and fuzzy minded. But a moment of rest is being gifted to you, the demon beginning to slow as well.

 

You’re in his lap. When did that happen? You’ve been too focused on clinging to his body with your every limb, you never noticed the change in position. But its fine, it allows you to slump against him, still trying to catch your breath. You place your ear on his chest, not expecting to hear anything like a heartbeat, but are able to hear his own deep intakes of breath. He’s tired, too. So he _doesn’t_ have unlimited stamina. That may be a good thing.

 

His frame is still so thin, but he looks to be unbothered by your weight against him, his arms and face continuing to rub and nuzzle. You don’t mind it, a tired chuckle fighting past your panting breaths. It’s an action that may not be noticed by him, but you take it as something cute, soothing even. His tongue moves against your shoulder, a pinprick of pain telling you he did in fact break skin. You doubt his ink like drool is going to do anything to clean it, but you appreciate the effort.

 

Sleep is both the nearest and furthest thing from your mind. There’s things to do, a park to escape with a demon in tow. But your breathing is finally regulating, only leaving you feeling exhausted. You don’t even fight it when he begins to move you again, laying you down into the cold pool of ink, his... _tentacles_ now finally sliding out from you. It’s still a weird thing to focus on, so you decide to just. Not.

 

You’re spilling, a sensation that’s almost as weird as the tentacles, entire body full of ink and finally taking the chance to empty some of it. If you were in a lit up place, you would have probably been horribly embarrassed by the act, but you doubt the ink demon would care anyway. He’s moving over you, his own body beginning to slump and show his lack of energy, pressing against you and warming the ink around you both. The teeth are gone, or more ‘back to normal’, his usual grin taking over his face.

 

He’s atop you, but not so much in a cuddling way at all. His gaze is locked towards the door, arms tight around you. It gives you a sensation of being guarded. Or, perhaps, not being allowed to _leave_.

 

Another laugh leaves you, and you struggle lightly against him, enough to make him move back as you adjust to sit up on your elbows. “I’m not planning on leaving anyway, you know,” you say, a grin growing on your own face. It’s answered with a quick vibration of his mouth, which only causes a chuckle from you. You sit up more, causing him to sit back as well, and you place your hands onto either side of his cheeks once more, thumbs petting gently.

 

“I wish you could speak,” you begin, a notion more to yourself than to him. “There’s so many things I want to ask you. So many things I wish you could tell me...” It fills you with a sadness you’ve felt before, back when all these confusing feelings only just begun to manifest. If there was a way... maybe there was, he was obviously proof that some sort of magic existed. And if not, well. You could just teach him how to _actually_ use a typewriter.

 

His hands grab yours, pulling them from his face and looking down to them. You can’t tell what he’s thinking, but you can tell there is some sort of consideration going on in his mind. His gaze leaves to stare to the doorway, body becoming stiff but the ink across his face beginning to ooze with much more speed. This time it’s an emotion that’s easy to read. The thoughts in his head weren’t good ones.

 

It takes some effort to speak up, having to clear the nerves from your throat. “What... are you planning on doing?” You wanted to say you didn’t care, and you didn’t when it came to a whole mess of people in those offices, especially Mr. Joey Drew. But the others...

 

No. You weren’t here to plead. You knew full well what you were getting in to.

 

He doesn’t give you an answer, but you didn’t expect one with the question you gave. His focus only stays glued on the doorway, mouth moving in random bursts of vibrations until he finally moves to stand up. You catch his frame in the dim light as he does, for just a moment noting that he doesn’t seem as slim or malnourished as before, but putting it off as a trick of light in the dark room.

 

A hand is held out to you. Humanoid, but still black and dripping. Your fingers curl and uncurl into your palm, staring at it for a moment, feeling your brows begin to furrow.

 

You may love the demon, even if the emotion may not make sense to him. He may not even love _you._ And that’s fine. You never expected love, not in its normal definition anyway.

 

But belonging, that’s nice. Being claimed is nice.

 

For now, it’s most likely the closest you can get.

 

You reach out, a wide grin of your own growing, feeling only a bubbling excitement build in your chest. You’ll become anything for him. A tool, a lackey, even a toon. If he needs it, you’ll do it. As long as you can see his smile, his _real_ smile...

  
Even if it kills you.

 

_You take his hand._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  WELP
> 
> THERE YOU GO  
> I hope you enjoyed my VERY shameless smut 
> 
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